by Erica Nyden
“Better than expected, considering. And you?”
She yawned. “Fine.” She touched his forearm, her manner cheerful. “You must be famished. I know I am. I’ll tell Mrs. Pollard we’re ready for breakfast.”
The relief that eased his brow emboldened her train of thought.
“We’ve the whole day ahead of us, William, a day to make new memories to replace those old ones. What shall we do?”
Chapter 16
The roar of crashing waves grew louder, telling William they’d emerged from the path. He’d finally consented to take Olivia to his beloved cove, where familiar scents, cool and salty, rushed his nose and provoked dozens of memories.
“It’s beautiful.” Delight flooded her voice.
“Even with barbed wire?”
“The wire is out beyond the surf. The beach is clear of it.” She took his hand and tugged. “Come, let’s go down to the water.”
He pulled back.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said, eager to lose himself in his thoughts. “I mean it. Nothing is wrong. You go on ahead. Make your way in that direction, and I’ll come meet you.”
He pointed, he was sure, to the shelf of slate bordering the inlet’s west side.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here. His mother had first brought him when he was very young. Though protective, she wasn’t overly so, and she’d allowed him to climb and explore as any boy would. Natural consequences answered poor choices, but nothing too dire. Scrapes and bruises were the standard trimmings of the knee-length trousers and suspenders of his boyhood.
As he grew older, he came here alone; the cove became his refuge. In secret forts, an empty cave at low tide, or the hollow of dead bramble, he created battle plans after spying on make-believe enemies. His imagination was never void of storylines in which he saved the world (or his cove) from ruin. Twice, after his mother died, he’d brought mates here to play. Their envy of his own wild place boasting rocks, caves, and tumbling water reminded him how lucky he was to have it.
When he was older still, he came here to read over long holidays from school and in between assignments with the army. The cove was his alone; his father had never cared for it, and after those few visitors in childhood, he never shared it with others again.
Until now.
Olivia, the woman whose bare feet he imagined racing through the surf just yards away, had become his salvation. For weeks, an adoration he’d never felt for a woman before grew within him like a mighty oak, deep-rooted and unwavering. He desired her as well: her voice, her touch, and her smell were daily requirements. He’d intended to tell her so on Christmas Eve until the pain in his skull had reduced him to a blithering idiot.
Girlish giggles carried by a restorative breeze reached him where he stood, one hand shoved inside his greatcoat, the other gripping his white cane. Full of life, her laughter brought to mind her innocent kisses—the ones he’d received after giving her the moonstone and again under the mistletoe. Her inexperience was surprising. Professionally, she was unfazed by his caustic nature and horrendous mood swings. She could take a tense situation like the one last night and tame it to her will. Yet when it came to flirtation, her naïveté charged him to take control, beginning with the study of her face.
According to his fingers, it was heart-shaped, her nose small, and her lips—her lips were full and smooth like the petals of a burgeoning tulip. Though she’d never admit it, he knew she was beautiful. How could a woman who smiled so much be unattractive? And he could always tell when she smiled because her voice changed: The edges of her words softened and poured from her mouth like honey.
He had to kiss her again—but his way this time. The way her body melted against his told him she’d never experienced such a kiss. The way she sighed when they parted told him she wouldn’t mind another.
“William?” A shadow crossed his face as her delicious scent encircled him.
He thought quickly. “I was wondering if you were enjoying yourself.”
“From now on, I think you’ll have a hard time keeping me away from here.”
He pictured her twirling in the sand.
“It’s hard to believe this is so close to the house,” she continued. “The cliffs, the roaring ocean. I love how different it is from the quiet grounds.”
He did too.
“Come with me?”
He let her tow him toward the water—briefly.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you get wet,” she said.
“I trust you.” He let go of her hand and reached up, hoping to brush the silk of her hair or caress the side of her face. Nothing was there.
“A sand dollar!” she exclaimed, her voice feet away. “Oh, it’s broken.”
He lowered his arm and shoved his hand back into his pocket, disappointed and feeling a fool. “They’re difficult to find whole down here, but sometimes you do.”
“Can we climb the rocks? You climbed them as a boy, no doubt.”
She took his hand, fueling his desire to pull her near. Instead, he followed her toward the uneven slate steps. He’d climbed them dozens of times, and under her careful direction, doing so blindly wasn’t much different. His balance would’ve been stronger free of her hand, but he didn’t want to let it go.
High above the roiling ocean, facing it head-on, they sat on the cool, hard surface of stone. William pictured the slopes that rose to the west. This time of year, the blackthorn dotting the windblown cliffs would resemble crippled old men, hunched and shaking in the wind. Though they were dark and skeletal, Cornwall’s early spring would soon dress them in white flowers tough enough to withstand the next season’s warmer gales.
A breeze kicked up, and flecks of seawater sprinkled them. Olivia shivered. Still holding her hand, he squeezed it, savoring the shared moment. Peace passed through their palms. Her touch did that to him, as it had in his bedroom less than twenty-four hours ago when she watched him cry, curse, and thrash about.
Before she asked the inevitable.
But even after learning the truth and seeing shame pummel him like a stone at the bottom of a waterfall, she remained his steadfast ally. Even when he was inconsolable, she gave no inclination that she thought him weak. His heartbeat quickened as he recalled lying beside her, his head nestled into her side whilst she protected him from his demons. His arms had clasped her tiny waist for hours, longing for her soft flesh and scorning her flannel gown. He’d imagined her in his arms and his bed more than once—but in fits of passion, not the throes of some bloody nightmare.
There was no avoiding it. He was in love with Olivia, and had been for some time.
“What are you smiling at?”
“What?” He turned his head to hide his surprise, and maybe his guilt, but his grin remained.
“Are you making fun of me? Do you think me silly for asking you to climb ridiculous heights, and you’re wishing we never ventured down here?”
“Not at all.”
“What is it, then?”
He couldn’t lie to her. He raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking about Christmas Eve.”
“That was a horrible night.”
Oh, no. “Horrible?”
“Your headaches. You were miserable, and I was a nervous wreck.”
“Oh,” he said, relieved that they were talking about two different things. “I meant earlier in the evening. The dinner and dancing. The mistletoe.”
“Ah,” she said, her voice turning dreamy. “That wasn’t horrible at all. That was wonderful.”
“I hope you didn’t think me presumptuous for surprising you with the mistletoe.”
“No, William.” His heart warmed at hearing his name wrought into her smile. “But I wasn’t sure if your plan that night was something you really wanted or some euphoria brought on by your pills.”
“They served a purpose, I suppose. Without them, I wouldn’t have had the courage to ask Mrs. Pollard to help me hang mistletoe. I cer
tainly wouldn’t have excused the staff for an entire week.” He paused, hoping he wasn’t revealing too much. “And though I wanted badly for you to have it, I don’t think I’d have had the nerve to give you my mother’s necklace. Do you ever wear it?”
She lifted his hand and left it resting on the pendant at her throat. “Every day. I cherish it.”
His thumb smoothed over the large stone before traveling further afield. Clinging to her warm skin, his hand slid along her jawline to the side of her neck. “What if there were no mistletoe, no fire, and no holiday? Just a windy cove, an extremely hard surface, and what I think is a sunny day. Would you let me you kiss then?”
She responded by giving in to his gentle pull. He pictured her eyes closed in surrender. When their lips met, she stilled, as though awaiting his next move. Her reserve, as usual, left him wanting more. At her shoulder, he pulled her closer still.
She shivered.
“Chilly?” he asked, his forehead touching hers.
“A little.”
“Should we go?”
“No!” she said, disrupting their closeness. “I’m not ready to go yet. Are you?”
“I’m rather enjoying myself. Here.”
He stood and removed his greatcoat, draped its bulky mass around her, and returned to her side. She arranged part of the coat over his shoulders, too.
“We can share,” she said, snuggling beneath its silky lining and his arm, now encircling her lower back.
Wind stirred her lavender scent, beckoning him to lean over and kiss her again. Perhaps he would lay her onto the rocks, his arms a cradle against sharp edges, his body a blockade from the incessant wind. If he could have seen what was behind them, he might have tried it, but he didn’t want to make an unromantic fool out of himself.
He sought to veer away from the thought, but she did it for him. “Has the estate always belonged to your family?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you look like that? Like you’re hiding something?”
“My family’s history is rather sordid. Some of it, anyway. And it’s a rather long story.”
“Tell me.”
He was happy to—anything to keep her this close a little longer.
Long shadows stretched east, darkening Keldor’s exterior. The wind had died, and a cool mist hovered over the lawn between the house and the cove’s trailhead. Immune to the chill brought on by winter’s early nightfall, Olivia strolled beside the “real” William as revealed by the magic of Steren Cove. Her William.
She wasn’t sure how long he held her close, sheltering her from whipping wind and divulging intimate stories of his ancestors. He started with the treacherous Morgans who’d migrated from Wales and utilized the cove for surreptitious deeds that eventually financed the building of Keldor (Keldor means “secret earth” in Cornish, William had explained). Then there were the philanthropic Morgans of recent years and the remarkable story of how they’d entered his mother’s life and forever changed it when she was still a girl. But after the story of Uncle George and his tragic end on the Titanic, William let escape a series of yawns. Her own yawns completed the volley, and neither one could deny the kip they both needed.
Out of the bramble and across the meadow, William gripped her hip as though he feared she might slip away. She rested her head on his shoulder, beaming when his playful pecks peppered the top of it. She’d never been so happy. The realization that she didn’t have to fight or hide her feelings made her want to swing his arm and skip alongside him.
She longed to write her cousin. Should she disclose everything, including his advances on Christmas Eve, which she’d so conveniently left out of her last letter? Should she tell Katie how even though she was nervous about kissing him (because she wasn’t sure she was very good at it), she couldn’t wait to do it again? No, whatever she told Katie, she would do so in person. Words on paper could do nothing to express the joy warming her cheeks and broadening her smile.
They missed tea. Olivia hung up William’s greatcoat as Jasper greeted them with a wagging tail in the foyer. Apparently he held no grudge for being excluded from the long walk and licked William’s hand ferociously in greeting.
Mrs. Pollard waved off their absence, claiming it wasn’t a bother at all. But she didn’t turn to leave. Head cocked, she raised an eyebrow at them. Something had changed, and she knew it.
“Nice walk, then?” she asked.
Olivia hoped her certain flush would be attributed to the chilly air.
“Absolutely, Polly.” William reached in Olivia’s direction, and she gave him her hand. “I should’ve taken Olivia there long ago.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, stretching her guilty smile even further. She kept her eyes on the happy Labrador.
“We won’t be late for supper, Polly, we promise,” William said, oblivious to Mrs. Pollard’s inquisitive face before Olivia steered them both toward the stairs.
“Do you need anything before I leave you to rest?” Olivia asked just inside William’s bedroom.
He wore the same mysterious expression he’d worn at the cove. He was up to something, and it wouldn’t be long before she was privy to it.
“I do.”
Willingly, she followed his pull on her wrist. His left arm wrapped her waist and her hip met his. His right hand went to her face and found her mouth with his fingers before hurriedly covering it with his own, voraciously sapping every ounce of strength that kept her standing. If it hadn’t been for the support of his arm and the wall behind her, she’d have sunk to the floor.
Unlike their brief embrace at Steren Cove, this kiss left no question of William’s resolve. In an effort to match his fervor, she rose on her tiptoes, her arms clinging more tightly, her palms flattening against his back. Her fingers curled as heat sprang from every place he touched her, sizzling through her body.
He pulled away. “Your hair. It’s up.”
Her hair had grown long since moving to Cornwall, but fashioning it into the latest twists and curls had always been beyond her. Assuming William didn’t care one way or another (especially as he couldn’t see it), it was easier to pile it on top of her head.
Out of breath, she whispered, “Should I take it down?”
“Let me.”
Both hands patted her head, searching for hairpins. She ignored the tugging of delicate strands that would’ve rushed her to tears, had this been her mother’s undertaking. Freed from the metal clips, her hair fell in thick hanks to her shoulders. He grabbed them in his fist, burying his nose in their layers until his mouth came to her neck. She’d never been kissed here before, an intrusion that left her bereft when he came away.
“I believe I’ve fallen in love with you, Nurse Talbot,” he whispered.
She smiled against his face.
“Does that make you smile?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said, using his fingers to examine her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and each cheek. “Then you aren’t opposed to more of these?”
He planted his lips gently between her eyebrows.
“No.”
“Whenever I feel like it? They may come without warning from here on out.”
Searching his face the way he had hers, she traced the arcs of his dark eyebrows, spellbound by the slate-blue orbs. Despite their ardor, the discoloration beneath them reminded her of his exhaustion.
“Whenever you wish. But William”—she tore herself away from him as one would from a fire on a bitterly cold night—“you should lie down awhile.”
An eyebrow ticked up as though reading more into her suggestion. But all he said was, “I suppose you’re right, Nurse Talbot. Shall we resume this later, then?”
Unable to withdraw completely, she kissed his nose and mouth. “Of course. I find activity of this sort highly beneficial to your overall health.”
Chapter 17
It was late, but Olivia didn’t sleep. Standing at the window, she peeked behind the blackou
t. Wind shook Keldor’s windowpanes and blew branches wildly, reminding her of William searching the space around him before he learned how to use his white cane. How she wished it were William who’d got her out of bed and not the storm. Since the last horrific nightmare including her, his nights had been relatively quiet—a good thing, and she was back to honoring his request to allow him to get through the minor nightmares without her.
Still, she missed him. Was he sleeping? Was his top lip curled slightly toward his nose, his hair a black riot against his pillowcase? After so much time spent together during the day, emptiness crept over her when they were apart, like an oyster missing its pearl. True, she’d been with him every waking moment since October, but their days were different now.
In the mornings, they arrived at breakfast hand in hand. He insisted she sit close, not to help him eat but so he could keep a hand on her knee or smooth the length of her arm. Afternoons sent them down to Steren Cove, rain or shine, talking the whole way. Already somewhat familiar with her family dynamics, William probed further. He inquired into the close relationships she had with her father and grandmother and the tenuous one she had with her mother. As an only child, he was curious about growing up with siblings; he learned straightaway that just because she was the only daughter didn’t mean she’d been granted any favors. Open and honest, Olivia spoke as she would to her cousin Katie or as she would write in her personal journal. Not once did he interrupt. Even when she sounded petulant and spoilt, he never exacted judgment. Instead, he smiled and whisked her hand to his lips.
After their chilly walks, they retired to the library for hot tea and a book. She loved reading to him. Under a shared blanket on the library sofa, he lost himself in the stories, his face a canvas of reaction: laughter, worry, shock, sadness. Occasionally he touched her face as if making sure she was still there. Apparently, her legs draped over his lap and her voice in his ear weren’t enough to tell him so.
Mrs. Pollard’s presence had become rather intimidating. The housekeeper announced herself before entering a room, no doubt unsure of what she’d find there. In almost every instance, the besotted pair were clasping hands or leaning into one another in flirtatious laughter. Olivia avoided her glance at all costs, but William carried on as if caressing her shoulder or attaching his hand to her hip were customary behaviors between nurse and patient.
